This, though, is a monstrosity. Machine washable, not dry-clean only. Can you believe it? It makes a certain sense when you consider it’s worn by someone acting in a security capacity of some sort. It’s going to get filthy and throwing it in a wash when you get home is practical enough. The material is a syntheticblend, so movement is fine, but the way it sits on my shoulders is distracting in a way I don’t appreciate.
I have a role to play here, so I remain constantly aware of everything around me. Shoulders relaxed, posture easy, a slight looseness in the stance like I’ve been on my feet for hours already. A faint frown held just enough to look natural.
Just another face in the faceless masses.
Appear at ease while everything inside me is sharpened to a lethal point, my gaze fixed on the stage as Trey is brought forward like a lamb to the slaughter. Logan told me Trey’s earpiece stopped working. Not unexpected. Trey can be quite hard on electronics. He may have switched it off without thinking, or more likely lost it entirely. It doesn’t matter. I accounted for some of the chaos that tends to orbit him. All he had to do was make his way toward the stage without drawing too much attention.
Listen to them.
The crowd is in a state of rapture, voices rising and collapsing in waves of blind fervor. Fools. So many of them entirely convinced of their own righteousness. Their eyes are wide, feverish, consumed by it.
In the middle of it all, Trey walks onto the stage more cleanly than I would have expected.
What was his name supposed to be again? Theodore.
Given purpose, Trey is more than formidable.
He doesn’t falter.
He doesn’t know how to.
Most men would feel it, the weight of this many eyes, the hunger in them, the danger—but Trey just steps into it like he owns it, like this is just another stage and not a goddamn execution waiting to happen.
My breath catches, a dark grin pulls at my lips.
Pride.
Because if this goes wrong…there is no clean ending.
There is no recovery.
There will be only death.
I will shoot every motherfucker here if they stand between me and my brother again.
How that bloodhound found Logan with Lola…I regret not getting there first. But his showing was admirable.
My gaze locks on the moment Gideon steps toward him, black robes sweeping, arms open like a prophet welcoming his faithful, and I watch closely—too closely—for any flicker, any tell, any break in the illusion.
Gideon has, of course, seen straight through the disguise. Tipping him off that Trey would sneak in and cause a disruption was calculated, but it allowed me to predict exactly where Trey would be after reviewing the layout and confirming the details with his father.
Of course, Trey isn’t walking into the lion’s den. Not really.
Gideon just needs to believe he is.
A slow breath fills my lungs.
Good.
Then it’s time I play my part.
I turn before the crowd can shift again, before attention can snag on me, slipping sideways along the barrier with the same effortless confidence as the men stationed there, my suit doing half the work for me, my face doing the rest.
Ah, anonymity, what a wonderful tool you are.
I wear it well.
No one stops me as I move past the line, ducking under the barrier with a murmur of acknowledgment, a tilt of my head that says I’m expected, that I’m known, that I am not to be questioned.
